Page 74 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Callum

Unplayed Voicemails: (3)

The glare from the sunlight poking through the slots in Dr. Jain’s window blinds irritates my eyes. I reach up to fidget with the wand, twisting it so they shift direction.

“Grief still hits me out of nowhere. Jerseys in our colors, blue Gatorade, seeing teenagers play soccer at the park… It hits me, and I have to remember it’s not actively happening again. But the episodes are less frequent now, and I find myself not dwelling so much during the day. I, um, think about what happened that day, maybe the same amount as I always have. But I find myself dwelling less.”

Dr. Jain nods and jots down a note. “Why do you think that is?”

I rub my eyes, giving it some thought. “At first, I thought it might be Peyton—that she’s been changing me for the better. But, then, I thought about the decision I made last year to start therapy again, and the progress I’ve made listening to the voicemails. The reason why I wanted this from the start.”

She sets down her pen. “Your family.”

“Yeah. When I think back to Lila and Logan’s birthday… how they got those little soccer balls from Cait’s friend. How every single member of my family turned their head toward me, waiting for me to have a breakdown.” I pause, remembering my family’s sympathetic looks at the time. The worry written across Cait’s face, the sheen coating Ma’s eyes. “I knew then that I was sacrificing relationships in my life for the sake of grieving my past self. I want to be the uncle who can happily teach them soccer without a second thought. I want to take my own kids to games one day. I still want it for me and my family. But now, with Peyton…” I’m not sure that I have the right words.

Dr. Jain takes a sip of her tea. “Can you tell me more about her?”

“It’s not that I want to get better for her. She just makes me want to speed up that process. I always believed that if I told a woman I liked about my PTSD, she’d panic… but when I told Peyton, she accepted me.” I pause, taking a sip of water from my bottle. “I know I need to get to a place where I can talk about everything with her, sooner rather than later… So, I journaled last night. For the first time.”

Dr. Jain drops her jaw in mock surprise. “What? Are you telling me you haven’t been journaling this entire time?”

I feign a grimace. “I misspoke. I meant I journaled for the first time in a new notebook. The first five journals are already completely filled.”

We both laugh, and she sets down her pen. “How did you feel, after journaling?”

“It felt good. I think I’d rather attend a town meeting about lawn ornaments than have anyone read it. But it was interesting, writing it in ink on paper. I didn’t write about the past. I wrote about the present, about how I’ve been feeling, and about Peyton.”

“That’s really good, Cal. And since Peyton is becoming a large part of your journey, when does she get to know what happened?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I know the anniversary is coming up soon, but I don’t think I’m ready to delve into those details yet with Peyton. I’m still not sure how I’ll handle it. Even though I took off work that day as a precaution, I feel like I’ve been doing better. Maybe this year it won’t be as… difficult.”

It’s not that I want to keep the details of my trauma from Peyton. I just want to be the best version of myself when I tell her about it. In my gut, I know it’s because of the voicemails—my twisted keepsakes. There’s just this nagging ache in me that hesitates to finish them. That wants to hang onto them for dear life and cling to my current reality instead of uncovering a potentially worse unknown.

I can’t stop thinking about the voicemail from that day. The one I’m saving for last. It plagues me at night, keeping my mind awake and worried, feeding it nothing but the most brutal thoughts. Will their tone be angry? Will I feel better, ready to move on? Or will I feel worse?

Perhaps the most torturous question of all is wondering what happens when the keepsakes are gone.

Will the good memories go, too?

Deep down, I know they wouldn’t. But trauma isn’t always logical.

“It’s okay not to be ready. But what do you think needs to happen before you’ll let her all the way in? Is there a goal we can establish together?”

“The voicemails. I want to finish the voicemails.”

Dr. Jain nods. “Are you ready to listen to another one?”

I nod and pull my cell out of my pocket. My muscles coil at how heavy it feels in my hand, just like my arms do when I lift weights at the gym, except I know that when I put my phone away, relief won’t come.

My jaw sets as determination overpowers some of my anxiety. Even amidst the dread, there’s a sense of resolve that rarely makes an appearance. Today is going to be different.

“I think I want to…” I start, then cut myself off with a shake of my head. “No. I know I want to listen to one of the ones I’ve been avoiding.”

If Dr. Jain is surprised, she doesn’t show it on her face. “Oh? Which one? From the⁠—”

“Not from that day. I don’t know if I’ll ever—I just can’t yet. But maybe one from a different big date. There’s one from several years back… Twenty-first birthday, I think.”

“Okay, Cal. Whenever you’re ready.”